


A Sight for Sore Eyes

by ivefoundmygoldfish (melonpanparade)



Series: Sherlock Rare Pair Bingo [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2542223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpanparade/pseuds/ivefoundmygoldfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg takes Mycroft with him to the optometrist. Mycroft's not too happy to be spending their day off like this, but Greg has a goal he wants to see realised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sight for Sore Eyes

Greg and Mycroft were on holiday. Well, it wasn’t exactly a holiday per se; not what everyone else would consider a holiday, anyway, but in their lines of work—and more parts due to their stubborn views on delegating and upholding responsibilities—a couple of days completely free of work were as close to a holiday they would ever have. Of course, until Anthea wrestled Mycroft’s meetings and paperwork away from him using whatever magic she possessed, and Greg’s colleagues at the Yard kicked him out of his own office, demanding they stay away for x number of days, but that had yet to happen this year.

In any case, Mycroft wasn’t too pleased about the way their one-day holiday together was turning out. Still, Greg had a clear goal in mind… and he was prepared to do whatever it took to see it realised.

“Honestly, Gregory, you had yesterday off, too. Was it really necessary to book your optometrist appointment on the only day our off days overlapped?”

“Sorry. I think today was the best day for the optometrist.”

“I could have arranged for an optometrist to come visit us at home so we wouldn’t have to go out. It would also be more time efficient,” Mycroft pointed out.  

“I don’t think they’d appreciate lugging their huge machines to someone’s flat just ‘cause someone didn’t want their boyfriend to duck down to their local optometrist. Have you seen those things? They’re bloody _huge._ ”

“That would hardly have posed an issue.”

Greg smiled wanly. Of course it wouldn’t have posed an issue, not where Mycroft was concerned, at least. And while Mycroft’s eagerness to expend his resources for their relationship was flattering, it certainly wasn’t practical.  “We’ve talked about doing things the normal people way…”

“I was merely suggesting an alternative that would ensure having most of the day to ourselves,” Mycroft huffed.  

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry.” Greg scrubbed his face before speaking again, making sure to pause at all the right moments to maximise dramatic effect. “Look, I just… it means a lot to me to have you come with me.”

“I still don’t understand why you are so averse to a pair of reading glasses.”

He sneaked a glance sideways in time to see, rather than hear, Mycroft’s barely audible sigh of resignation. A good sign, then. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to be more convincing. The best lies were always shrouded, interlaced, with elements of truth, after all, and boy did he have some qualms about needing glasses.

“Because it feels like I’m conceding defeat to old age!”

“Needing reading glasses is not necessarily an indicator of old age, Gregory.”

“Well, apparently it is after you’ve hit the big four-oh and you can’t read anything on the bloody page unless it’s an arm’s length away.”

“Who told you that?”

“…Sherlock,” Greg muttered. “And not only that, I’m greying!”

Mycroft’s lips twitched. “Yes, I am quite aware.”

“What good has it done except make me look ol—”

“—immensely attractive,” Mycroft interrupted, reaching across the empty space between them to rub his hand up and down Greg’s thigh.  

“Don’t distract me.” Greg caught Mycroft’s hand and pinned it down with his own, so Mycroft settled for rubbing circles on the inside of Greg’s thigh with his thumb instead. “Everything about me screams old! Ugh. Tell me one thing about me that doesn’t scream old.”

“Your… performance.” Mycroft didn’t need to say _what_ performance exactly; the purr of his voice, the smug upturn of the lips, the eyebrow raised suggestively, and the squeeze to the thigh were more than sufficient.

Greg barked out a laugh, pleasantly surprised. “You really only had one activity in mind for our day off together, didn’t you?”

“Well, it _has_ been a while since our days off overlapped…”

 

* * *

 

“Sorry, it’s a bit early, but I’m here for my 9:30 appointment?”

“Mr Greg Lestrade?”

Greg nodded.

“Dr Hutchinson’s patient just went in about five minutes ago, so it’ll be another twenty to twenty-five minute wait. There are magazines and brochures in the corner. Of course, you’re also welcome to browse for frames while waiting.”

“Thanks, we’ll do that.”

With a hand on the small of Mycroft’s back, Greg guided them towards the men’s glasses on the opposite side of the shop.

“What do you reckon?”

“Perhaps this one?”

Peering into one of the many mirrors dispersed around the room, Greg frowned at what he saw in the reflection. “Ugh, this one makes me look like I’m trying to be twenty again.”

He passed the glasses back, relishing in the way Mycroft shifted his stance ever so slightly when he brushed his fingers along Mycroft’s palm.

“Even without them, you do maintain a youthful countenance.”

“Mmm, thank you for your vote of confidence,” Greg replied. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

He made a show of trying on several other pairs, but came back to Mycroft and plucked out a pair that he’d had his eyes on since they’d entered the shop.

“These would probably suit you better than me. Make you look more… strict-librarian looking.” Greg grinned and handed them to Mycroft. “Try them on?”

Mycroft furrowed his brow, ready to politely refuse in that diplomatic way of his.

“Please?”

It took another sigh of resignation—they happened a lot when Mycroft acquiesced to Greg’s requests—before Mycroft responded. “If you insist."

“Oh, I—” The _do_ died in his throat.

Mycroft was looking at him, really _looking_ at him, with his head cocked slightly and the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. And he didn’t know how Mycroft’s eyes managed to become bluer, clearer, with just a simple piece of glass, but somehow, they did.

“Fuck, this was so worth it,” Greg rasped. “Sod the appointment; we’re going home.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows rose so high they almost reached his hairline, and then he broke out into a smile and shook his head. “A glasses fetish. Really, Gregory?”

“Shut up. You look fucking sexy, okay?”

“Ah. And this was your plan all along, I imagine. Sneaky.” Mycroft reached up to take the glasses off, eyes remaining on Greg throughout.

Greg, whose own eyes were blown wide, whose lips were parted, who let out the quietest whine.

Mycroft took one step closer, bending ever so slightly so his warm breath puffed against Greg’s ear, voice pitched lower than usual. “As your level of arousal seem to be significantly heightened by my wearing glasses, and given that it would inconvenience the shop to take this pair home, I will arrange for something similar to await us when we arrive.”

Shit. Greg had only wanted to see Mycroft in glasses. He hadn’t expected to be so affected, and he definitely hadn’t expected Mycroft to be so… accommodating. And he hadn’t expected to shake with the need to go home. Now.

He spun on his heel and walked to the counter as fast as he could without running, Mycroft following close behind. “Sorry, something urgent has cropped up.” Greg hoped his voice was even, concealing the desperation and need thrumming through his veins. “I’ll ring back later about rescheduling the appointment.”

Ignoring the bewildered look on the receptionist’s face, Greg turned back to face Mycroft, speaking quietly enough so only he could hear. “Now, let’s get you out of here and into those glasses.”


End file.
